


carve it in

by Teumessian



Series: The Boundless Saga [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddling, Emotional Sex, Kissing, M/M, Simon/Raphael if you squint, Violence, light Jace/Clary, sort of sex magic, which you should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teumessian/pseuds/Teumessian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine moves on Idris and open war falls on the downworld. Magnus knows that his time with Alec is limited, but he’s not prepared for it to be over yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carve it in

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So, disclaimer, certain events in this fic may be based on some extremely vaguely remembered parts of the books. Also there's technically a major spoiler for the show if you haven't read the books, but I'm about ninety nine percent sure everyone just knows this one. Like it's the Big One everyone, related to Jace and Clary... yeah? Otherwise, I'm playing very fast and loose with Shadowhunter canon and lore.
> 
> Otherwise, this one is a bit shorter than the others, but it's setting up for my next installment which will be a lot longer and aggressively deviate from any current canon. Hopefully in a way you'll all enjoy!
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to Beka for her beta! Thanks to Emma for being my sounding board and buddy on this series. We're having so much fun.

_I want you_

_I’ll color me blue_

_Anything it takes to make you stay_

 

They always knew it would come to open war. No matter how many skirmishes or special missions the Clave orchestrated, war was coming from the moment Valentine acquired the cup.

“Our spies say that Valentine’s forces will be at the gates of Idris in less than a week,” Maryse Lightwood says, hands clasped tightly behind her back. “The Clave has called for all able bodied Shadowhunters and available allies to return to our homeland and defeat Valentine--once and for all.”

Cheers crash around the room, but Alec is silent. He’s tired. He’s tired of being one step behind from the beginning. He’s tired of months of feeling like there are armies outside his door and armies inside his home. He’s tired of feeling like Luke, Han, and Leia—trapped in a garbage chute between two closing walls.

Simon forced them all to watch Star Wars last month. Alec had absolutely hated it—though, to be fair, not nearly as much as Raphael. Alec could at least admit he wanted a lightsaber, but by the end of the movie Raphael and Magnus had actually drank themselves onto the floor. Raphael to make the movie bearable and keep himself from exiling Simon (again), and Magnus because he couldn’t bear to let a friend drink alone.

Admittedly, it had been a good night.

Alec feels the touch of two fingers on his wrist as the other Shadowhunters disperse. He looks up to meet Magnus’ kohled eyes. Before Alec can even speak, Maryse and Robert are upon them.

“Are the demons still waiting on the outskirts of the city?” Maryse asks, all business.

She speaks to Magnus these days… if she needs him. Resentment is a bitter taste on the back of Alec’s tongue. Magnus brushes his thumb over Alec’s pulse point one last time before pulling his hand back. Maryse’s eyes never leave his face. It’s almost worse.

“Yes. They haven’t moved. They aren’t fighting our wards, but I don’t doubt they’d move on the city if they were lowered,” Magnus says.

About five days previously, Magnus and the other Warlocks sensed a whole barrage of greater demons appearing on the outskirts of New York. Communications confirmed that similar phenomena were occurring in a number of other Downworlder saturated cities.

“I can only assume it’s Valentine’s way of keeping us from forming a completely united front. The Warlocks cannot travel to Idris without the demons descending,” Magnus continues.

His words are heavy. It sounds like there’s a guillotine hanging over his neck. Maryse only looks at Magnus, but Magnus only looks to Alec. The Shadowhunter holds his mournful gaze.

This isn’t a battle they’ll be fighting together.

 

 

Alec hasn’t even left the city yet, but Magnus already feels an unusual emptiness when he returns to his loft. Magnus’ magic keeps the place tidy, but even so, there are little bits of Alec present or tucked away. There’s a spare stele tucked into the drawer of the end table, Alec’s favorite coffee beans in the kitchen, and a drawer reserved for Alec in the bedroom with spare clothes for when he stays over. It’s a common occurrence these days, more nights spent together than apart. Slowly but surely, Alec seems to have grown comfortable in Magnus’ space.

These days, he doesn’t ask for permission to cook up a pile of eggs for breakfast or hesitate to pull the fluffy blanket from the back of the couch when he’s cold. He doesn’t ask before pulling one of Magnus’ books from the shelf and curling himself into the best armchair by the largest window. It’s all very domestic in ways that Magnus has never really experienced. Sometimes he thinks he’s even more out of his depth than Alec--and yet, each act of ease, each touch of stability, is oddly thrilling and settling in equal measures.

And now it all feels horribly, terrifyingly fragile.

One thing that hasn’t changed in the year _plus_ that Magnus and Alec have been together, is that Magnus still has yet to figure out how to really give Alec a gift. Historically, it’s basically the only way Magnus knows to express his emotions, his go-to method of delivering his affections. Yet Alec has no interest in piles of gold or priceless paintings or sparkling jewelry (though Magnus is working on that one; there are a few well-loved silver bands adorning Alec’s fingers of late).

Still. He accepted and seemed to enjoy functional gifts—an engraved seraph dagger, any kind of food, reasonable clothing—which Magnus exploited aggressively, bringing Alec some token or offering almost every week.

However, Magnus didn’t want to send Alec off to war with a _new sweater._ That thought has him summoning a martini and taking a shaky breath. No, Magnus needs something that _fully_ expresses to Alec how he feels about him. He’s had hundreds of years of practice. He _must_ be able to come up with something perfect. It’s been eating at him since the news of open battle in Idris broke.

Though Magnus would never admit it aloud, in the quiet of his loft he can momentarily confront the fact that his current obsession is nothing but a pathetic coping mechanism.

_Alec is going to war_. Magnus has fallen in love with a warrior and so bound himself to the fate of all those who love so foolishly.

Magnus hasn’t even let himself accept the fact that Alec is growing older, and right before him a completely different noose is dropping around his lover’s neck.

Magnus can feel the demons waiting outside the wards of New York, a perfect metaphor for his state of mind.

The Warlock goes to the bedroom. He sheds the suit he wore to the Institute, the one that makes him look like has it together when he’s literally shaking apart at the seams, anxiety overflowing. He dons a silk robe, black with no frills, and goes to the ornate vanity that’s pressed up against the far wall. He takes a seat before the mirrors. A candid photograph of Alec is tucked into the frame--a gift from dear Clary. Magnus takes a gentle wipe and cleans the shadow from his eyes, the highlights from his cheeks, forgoing magic in favor of the purifying motions.

When the makeup is gone, he stares at his face in triplicate. Momentarily, he feels truly old.

Truly helpless. Truly lonely.

Then Magnus catches sight of the pendant hanging around his neck, visible in the vee of his lazily closed robe. He raises a hand, brushing one finger over the rune of Alec’s name.

The idea blooms in his head like a lily curling into its final shape. Magnus’ eyes narrow, and with a snap, he’s dressed and smoky eyed once more.

 

 

Isabelle has her hair half way into a bun when she hears a knock on her door. It’s not surprising… Shadowhunters don’t put much stock in beauty sleep.

Still, Isabelle isn’t expecting to find Magnus Bane standing in her doorway. Her guard drops, an easy smile finding its way onto her lips.

“Are you here to ask for help getting my parent’s blessing to ask for Alec’s hand? ‘Cause I swear, Alec isn’t _quite_ as old fashioned as he seems,” Isabelle says, hand still resting on the doorknob.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m waiting for Alec to propose. He’s the one with practice after all,” Magnus says and Isabelle laughs openly, pleased that Magnus is clearly never going to let her brother live that one down. “However, I do actually have a favor to ask of you…”

“Oh? You know it’ll cost you,” Isabelle says, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe.

Magnus smirks.

“And what does the young Shadowhunter require for her services?”

Isabelle shrugs.

“Depends on the favor, but basically anything imported and chocolate would probably cover it,” she says and Magnus nods sagely. “Come on in. I take it Alec doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No… he doesn’t.”

The door shuts behind them with a very final _thump._

 

 

Alec goes to see Magnus the night before they leave for Idris.

“God damnit. _Magnus. Fuck.”_

Alec’s biceps knot and his fingers dig into smooth flesh as Magnus’ abs roll hypnotically above him. Their skin glistens with sweat, from exertion and from the fire roaring pink and wild in the hearth—the evidence that Magnus is _at least_ as far gone as Alec.

“Oh, look at the mouth on you…” Magus says, voice rough.

Alec isn’t sure if he’s even talking about the cursing as he reaches out and rubs his thumb along Alec’s puffy bottom lip. Alec draws it in and sucks. Magnus tips his head back and grinds down on Alec’s cock.

The tightness makes Alec’s head spin and one would think he’d be used to this, but every time he feels so overwhelmed. Magnus’ whole body rolls as he rises and falls, dick flushed and bobbing up towards his belly while the pendant around his neck swings.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Magnus says, and then tenses, as if he hadn’t meant to say it.

It breaks the forced ignorance of the evening, shatters the illusion that this is just like any other night—it’s not, and Magnus’ face crumples, a cross between arousal and pain. He leans forward, hands on Alec’s chest, lips falling to the hollow of his throat.

Alec responds to the emotions in his movements, rolling them over so Magnus is beneath him. He thrusts deep into Magnus, harder and faster than Magnus had been moving. They’ve come a long way from Alec seeing Magnus as this untouchable being, so far out of reach. Alec now knows when Magnus hurts, can feel it in the desperate way he grips the back of Alec’s neck.

“I’m going to miss you,” Alec confesses in return, for better or for worse.

It’s not a lie.  Going to Idris is like climbing down from the safety of a tree and right into the lion’s mouth—and that isn’t even considering Valentine, his armies, or the masses of greater demons. Not having Magnus there beside him feels like facing it all while missing a limb.

Magnus’ arms wrap tightly around his shoulders. Alec gasps as he feels something like electric vines curling around his arms, his legs, his torso. It would frighten him if he wasn’t so intimately familiar with the touch of Magnus’ magic. It grips Alec, unrestricting but undeniably present.

“Promise you’ll come home,” Magnus pants, eyes half lidded but terribly intense—he’s losing himself in a way that Alec hasn’t really seen before.

“I—” Alec tries to speak, but he’s much too deep to articulate anything at all; he slows his hips to try and clear his head but it results in short nails digging into his skin.

He groans and bucks, driving a quiet moan from Magnus.

“No—please. Don’t stop. _Alec_ ,” Magnus gasps, and the tendrils of magic heat against his body.

That, at least, Alec can do. He drops his face into Magus’ neck, licking and sucking at the skin there, tasting salt. A sob-like sounds falls from Magnus’ mouth. There’s a vibrating hum that’s growing louder in the air. It sounds… _blue_ , and when Alec opens his eyes, he see that he’s right. The fire has gone sapphire—and so has everything else. The walls are cobalt. The drapes are almost midnight. They’re fucking on a sea of navy sheets. It’s like Alec is seeing everything through blue-tinted lenses.

He looks back to Magnus. His eyes are raw, his makeup teal where Alec knew it had been pink when he arrived. He’s utterly breathtaking, hair a wild black halo on the pillow, making Alec’s heart stutter.

Overcome, Alec plants his elbow and buries his hand into the tangle atop Magnus’ head, crushing their lips together. He twists his hips and swallows the whine bubbling up in Magnus’ throat, holding his head in place as he thrusts his tongue down to meet Magnus’. The Warlock squeezes Alec’s ass with one hand, urging him on.

Both their gasps are audible when they break apart.

“ _Oh,_ how dearly I love you, _Alexander_ ,” Magnus says as a tell-tale heat begins to coil in Alec’s stomach.

“ _Magnus.”_

Alec reaches between them with his free hand, wrapping it around Magnus and pumping him in the way he knows Magnus’ likes—firm and just shy of too fast.

“ _Oh!_ Alexander. Alec. _Alec,”_ Magnus begins to babble.

The blueness intensifies and Magnus’ magic tightens its hold on Alec. It makes it a little hard to breathe, like a whole other soul is trying to climb into his body.

“Magnus— _Magnus, I can’t—”_

And yet it’s only driving Alec higher. The feeling grows and grows. Alec wants to let him in. The mirror across the room cracks and the ever blooming flowers on Magnus’ nightstand wilt, one petal dropping like a stone to the floor.

Their bodies tangle, making it hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends. A shudder runs through Alec’s body and Magnus shakes beneath him.

“ _Alec—Alec—my love, I—”_

When Magnus comes, the blue turns purple. Then for one fragile second, everything goes sparkling gold. Alec moans, eyes slamming closed as he follows Magnus over the edge.

 

Alec comes back to himself to the sound of Magnus’ rapid breathing and his arms tight around Alec’s back. The room has settled back to its usual colors, except for a sort of watery tint lingering in the air.

“I don’t want you to go to Idris,” Magnus says, not a request, but a simple admission.

Alec’s slowing breath raises goosebumps on Magnus’ chest. His head is resting on Magnus shoulder and he doesn’t know what to say, half his brain still offline. Unlike Alec’s, Magnus’ chest keeps up its quick pace.

“Alec, if something were to happen to you, I—”

Alec pushes himself up, growing worried. He meets Magnus’ nearly panicked eyes. He reaches up to cup Alec’s face.

“I don’t want you to go. It’s too _soon_ . I can’t lose you, Alexander, not yet. I can’t lose you yet. I’m not ready to— _I can’t…”_

“Hey, hey, hey, Magnus,” Alec said, finally catching up to the situation. “Hey.”

Magnus takes a deep breath.

“Promise you’ll come back to me. Even if it’s a lie, please, promise,” he says, his voice more even.

“I promise,” Alec says, heartfelt even if it’s not an oath he has the power to keep.

He moves up so they can lay face to face, two parentheses enclosing nothing at all. Magnus closes his eyes and links their fingers together—their forehead touch softly. The fire pops and everything settles back to the earth. The flowers on the bedside table perk their heads up, color returning to the petals.

 

 

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, and Magnus opens his heavy eyes. “I… You have to know, even if I wasn’t aging, I’m a soldier… that’s never going to change.”

Magnus is aware. The irony of wanting Alec to continue aging is not lost on him either. Part of him wishes he could magic them away right now, put Alec into a gilded cage and keep the Shadowhunter all to himself forever. Yet…

“I know... and you wouldn’t be the man who so enchanted me if you weren’t. I know but, _oh_ , my darling...” Magnus sighs, thumbs tracing Alec’s roughened knuckles. “Why must the world be so full of torment?”

It brings a little smile Alec’s face. That soft amused one that Magnus loves so dearly.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“My lover is going to war—indulge me. Plus, I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t dramatic. If we’re talking about defining characteristics, I mean,” Magnus shrugs. “Actually, on that note, I have a gift for you.”

It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that Alec’s immediate response isn’t protest. Magnus pushes himself up and Alec follows suit. They settle against the pillows at the head of the bed as Magnus flicks his fingers to clean them both up. Then he summons a small, ostentatiously ornate box to his palm. He stares at it for a second and, by his silence, Alec must be able to sense that this isn’t some random trinket, that this one is serious.

Gently, Magnus places the box in Alec’s hand. As the Shadowhunter takes in the image of the jeweled box, he runs his thumb over the emeralds and sapphires embedded in its surface. Suddenly Magnus feels intensely anxious. He worries that it’s too much, that it’s too imposing—especially after what Isabelle told him.

It’s too late to take it back as Alec slowly opens the lid. Magnus doesn’t know what Alec expected—perhaps a bracelet or a necklace, an ancient artifact—but it’s certainly not a small square of cloth, folded in on itself. Alec pulls the corners back deliberately, one at a time, to reveal… nothing.

All that’s inside is a series of black lines, traced deliberately onto a small handkerchief.

Magnus swallows nervously.

“The Greatness rune?”

He recognizes it, but clearly he doesn’t understand.

“It’s my name. Translated, it’s my name,” Magnus explains.

Alec’s eyes flash upwards to Magnus carefully controlled face, and then down to the pendant hanging around Magnus’ neck.

“I thought, perhaps…” Magnus trails off, finding himself unable to say it.

Alec looks back at the rune.

“Magnus, wearing runes like this…”

“I know. Isabelle explained.”

Runes with meanings like the one Alec holds in his palm are not smiled upon by the clave. _Greatness, Beauty, Perfection—_ they’re seen to show a lack of humility, betraying an overly high view of oneself. A muscle in Magnus’ jaw twitches with unease. He backpedals.

“I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I couldn’t ask you to—”

“Ask me.”

Magnus’ eyes widen as his mouth snaps shut. Alec’s face has changed. Sureness where before was confusion. His eyes are warm as he stares Magnus down.

“Ask me,” he repeats.

“Will you wear my rune into war?” Magnus says, voice soft.

Alec really never ceases to amaze. Magnus’ heart throbs in his chest as Alec lifts a hand to Magnus’ neck and draws him in.

“Yeah,” Alec breathes. “Yes.”

Magnus feels the answer on his own lips.

 

 

The great room is a flurry of activity as the New York Institute prepares for war. Weapons are being organized, packs are being stacked by a huge portal in the entry hall, the one Magnus opened that morning. Luke and his pack are waiting in the wings. Raphael’s coven has already gone ahead, slipping through to Idris before the sun even rose. Simon looked jumpy and pale when he arrived, but Raphael leaned into whisper a few words in his ear, and Simon’s hands had stopped shaking.

Alec and Jace have found themselves a corner on the training platform and are efficiently drawing runes over almost every inch of their bare skin. _Steadiness. Aim. Power. Speed._ The black lines flow into place, and when Alec finishes with Jace, his parabatai pulls his own stele out and turns to Alec.

Alec keeps his body still as Jace draws the runes of war.

“Wait,” Alec says when Jace gets to his chest. “I want this one there.”

He pulls the cloth from his pocket and presses it into Jace’s hand.

Jace’s brow furrows as he opens it up, the rune resting in his palm. His brows only pull more tightly together when he recognizes the rune.

“Greatness?”

Alec holds his shoulders square, and keeps his gaze focused across the room.

“It’s the meaning of Magnus’ name.”

Jace’s eyes widen. He’s taking a second to process. He looks down at the rune, and then back at Alec.

“You know this rune…”

“I know what it means. Just draw it, Jace,” Alec cuts him off.

Jace holds his hands up in acquiescence.

“Hey, as long as you’re sure I’m all about it,” Jace assures him.

“Make it permanent,” Alec orders as Jace raises his stele.

Jace just shakes his head with a gleeful smile on his lips as he goes for it. The stele touches Alec’s skin and his whole body heats up. Alec forces his hands to stay steady as something that feels vaguely familiar courses energetically through his system.

He can’t really fill his lungs until Jace is done. He claps his hand down on Alec’s shoulder.

“Brother, you have officially taken the cup for crazy relationship crap. And this is coming from the guy who thought his girl was his sister for a while,” Jace says, and it looks like he means to say more, but Maryse chooses that moment to descend upon them.

Those are _her_ magic powers.

“Jace. Alec. Have you—what is that,” she says, eyes zeroing in on the mark on Alec’s left pectoral.

Alec’s stomach sinks and then hardens, feeling like a stone in his gut. It’s not like he expected anything else.

_We’re Lightwoods. We break noses and accept the consequences._

Once he would have put _that_ on his body permanently. Now he sort of wants to burn the words off the face of the earth. He’s so tired.

“It’s Magnus’ name,” Alec says, holding his gaze at middle distance as he picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head.

“It’s a _Greatness rune_ ,” Maryse hisses. “It’s arrogant, _shameful_. If your continued obsession wasn’t enough, now for him you wear a mark of hubris? How am I supposed to explain—”

Alec notices a glittering figure enter the room over his mother’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, _mother,_ ” Alec grits out, and then walks past Maryse.

Magnus’ gaze softens when he sees Alec approach. The ice in Alec’s chest melts away, leaving nothing but the ache of frostbite--he’s used to that, though. They stand close, face to face, Alec’s head tilted forward.

“Are you finished with preparations?” Magnus asks, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t need to speak louder when they’re so close. Alec nods.

“We leave in five,” Alec says, and his throat feels tight, his chest aches deeply.

Magnus’ expression is melancholic.

“Are you wearing it?” he asks, voice lowering even further.

Alec brings his hand up to his chest.

“Yes.”

Magnus’ hand joins Alec’s over his heart.

“One last time, promise you’ll come back to me,” Magnus says.

Alec’s brow is furrowed as he draws Magnus to him, arms around his shoulders. He tucks his face into the side of Magnus’ neck and inhales his familiar scent.

“I promise.”

 

 

Wind roars through the plains outside of Idris. The moon hangs bright overhead, wispy clouds sliding over its face. Alec can hear his pulse in his ears, can feel it in his aching muscles. The tacky wetness of blood mixed with dirt coats his face. His seraph blade feels like lead in his hand and his quiver is empty on his back.

The arch-demon before him is like nothing he’s ever seen before. Big as a semi-truck, with dripping fangs and waving, clawed tentacles— _Anchebeddon._

Alec is alone. The heart of the battle is far away now. Across the city, his friends and his family are fighting. Izzy, Simon, Luke, Raphael--downworlders and Shadowhunters alike stand between Idris and the opposition. Clary and Jace are moving on Valentine, but Alec faces this monster by himself. He has to buy them time.

“ _GO!”_ he’d screamed, turning on their pursuer, Valentine’s greatest prize.

“Fuck! _Alec!”_ Jace called out to him, but there wasn’t a choice.

The demon shrieks, a horrible, bone grinding sound, like a thousand dying pigs, and Alec sinks his weight into the muddy earth. He’s so tired. It’s only sheer force of will keeping the black from falling over his vision. Alec knows his odds aren’t good, but he thinks of Magnus’ face, hears his voice on the wind... the rune on over his heart throbs, and Alec knows he can’t die here.

He knows he’s going to break Magnus’ heart one day.

But not yet.

Alec tightens his grip on his sword, and then he’s moving.

His blade sinks deep between Anchebeddon’s eyes. The death-call rolls across the war torn fields, a hideous swan-song. The demon falls.

Alec does not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I just want everyone to know that Alec isn't the only Lightwood who receives gifts from Magnus. Izzy gets something at least biweekly. Magnus picks out the _best_ eyeshadow palettes. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [HERE](spanglepup.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also, I absolutely live for comments so I'd love to hear from everyone! xoxo


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